#feelings deepened

[lonelyzarquon]

Kathryn Hahn as Clare Tiny Beautiful Things (2023) | 1.01 Pilot

[angelshizuka]

Stolas & Octavia + Hugs

HELLUVA BOSS 1.02 - Loo Loo Land 2.02 - Seeing Stars 2.12 - Sinsmas

[xuyaak]

same shape. new stuffing. (turn it around)

based on keferon’s empurata prowl au

[fetidbog]

Obsessive ASOIAF theorizing misses the point of the stories, I think! George's goal is to tell us a sweeping fantasy with heavy romantic elements and really beautiful characterization grappling with themes of redemption, power, agency, identity, love, loss, growth, death, (re)birth, etc etc. He obviously has some big plot points and mysteries, but those serve to reinforce the themes (e.g. Rhaegar and Lyanna are there to talk to us about love and tragedy and cycles and identity). George isn't chucking in a mystery to just have a wild and shocking reveal, he's putting it in to serve a narrative point and when you lose sight of that you are losing the plot, quite literally.

To me, it's much more interesting to see how certain themes develop over time as George sits with them (e.g. Jaime's progression from the outline into his POV character form is a perfect example), historical inspirations (BUT not as a way to crack a code!!!), and literary allusions and references.

[rainintheevening]

Safe with Strider

Frodo comes awake to a soft murmur of voices, two speaking in Elvish. He rolls over enough to find the speakers: Strider and Legolas sitting together by the low burning fire.

He does not know how late or early it may be, but the woods around them are very still. The air is cold, and there is a frost on Frodo's blanket.

There is enough light for Frodo to see that Legolas has begun to untie his braids, long fingers moving swift and easy. Aragorn sits on the ground, leaning back against the log the Elf sits on. For once the Man's hands are still, wrapped around the one knee he has pulled up.

They use a lot of words Frodo only half-recognizes, and Legolas’s speech is rounded with a thicker accent than Frodo has yet heard from him, but he recognizes the soft back-and-forth of memories being exchanged.

A moment of quiet falls, Legolas running fingers through his loose hair.

Strider sighs, breath forming a cloud above his head. "I would walk with thee in the halls of Mirkwood again, my friend."

"And I would welcome thee there again," Legolas says softly, pausing to lay a hand on Strider's shoulder.

Strider's hand comes up to clasp the Elf's, and Frodo would turn away, leaving them to their moment of remembrance, but then Legolas begins to sing in a low murmur. Frodo does not recognize the little he catches, and cannot help sitting up to hear better.

When the leaves fall down to the roots

And the rain covers them over

When the earth takes back and the earth makes new

And the sun draws up at the rising

Then the buds break forth

And the leaves come green

And the birds call me home again

In the morning

"Frodo?"

He starts, meets Strider's concerned gaze across the sleeping bodies of his fellow Hobbits.

"Are you well?" The Man speaks in the Common Tongue, and leans forward, a hand on the ground in readiness to rise.

"Yes," Frodo says hurriedly. "I was only listening to your song." He looks at Legolas, who smiles slightly.

"The ward of Master Baggins, yes. He told you of my home?"

"Yes..." Frodo hesitates until Strider nods, before rising and picking his way carefully around the fire, taking his blanket with him. He feels comfortable with Strider—'Aragorn' Legolas always calls him—after the journey to Rivendell, but Legolas is an unknown quantity. They had not crossed paths often in the Last Homely House, and have only been on the road now for three days.

"That last word," he cannot help asking as he settles next to Strider. "It is a word for 'morning', yet you use it more to mean a season? Spring?"

"Careful, Legolas, this one is a scholar." Aragorn's hand on the back of his neck is warm, and he gives Frodo a loving shake. "He will ask you questions about the differences of Silvan and Sindarin until the mountains fall about our ears."

The tips of Frodo's own ears burn, but Legolas’s laughter is not condescending. "Rest assured, Master Baggins, there will be much time to speak on this journey. But to answer your question, yes. In my speech we often use a similar word as shorthand for the spring of the year, as that for the dawn."

"I apologize for interrupting," Frodo says softly, glancing up to see the Elf with his braids all undone, pale hair loose over his shoulders. He hastily looks away, feeling rather like he's caught someone in their dressing gown. "Please go on singing."

So Legolas does, and Frodo pulls up his knees under the blanket, shifting closer to Strider's warmth, staring into the embers flickering with dark yellows and oranges like a dragon asleep.

Legolas sings of trees and roots and rivers and the wind in the leaves, and Frodo's head nods lower and lower, until he is once more asleep.

Aragorn smiles to himself, stroking a hand over the curly head now pillowed on his thigh. Frodo is warm against his side, blessedly warm. This small body had grown so cold on the race from Weathertop, despite all of Aragorn's efforts.

It had wrenched at his heart to hand Frodo over, even to one such as Glorfindel. After all, Gandalf had entrusted the Hobbits to him, and he had failed to protect the most important, and vulnerable, one of them all.

"It would have broken thy heart to lose him," Legolas murmurs above him, breaking off his song.

"I have not carried that weight," Aragorn whispers. "But still I know what it is to be burdened." He combs his fingers gently through Frodo's brown curls, untangling snarls.

Legolas sees the dull gleam on the pommel of the great sword that lies by his feet, and nods slowly. "Arwen feels the same, doesn't she. We are older than the trees that he was born under, and yet our fate lies in his hands, and the strength of his heart."

"And therefore in us to carry him thither." Aragorn sighs, leans against Legolas’s knee.

He has seen the stoutness of the Halfling spirit, and the simplicity of their pleasures. He has to believe that even something as small as allowing the Ring-bearer to sleep in safety and comfort can help Frodo onward.

Legolas shrugs off his own cloak, leans down to cover Frodo's feet. "Do you recall when you fell down that mineshaft, and Moranuen had to pull you out?"

Aragorn groans. "How could I forget when I have you to remind me?"

**

Frodo wakes to the rumble of Strider's voice above him, the smell of cooking breakfast, and the feel of a large arm resting over him. The ground is white with a dusting of snow, as are the legs that fill Frodo's field of vision, stretched out towards the fire.

He would be embarrassed to have fallen asleep on the Ranger, except he is so warm and snug he feels as if he were back home in his bed at Bag End. Safe, that's what he feels. Safe as hobbit holes, as Farmer Cotton would say.

So he lies there for a little longer, half-awake, listening to Strider's breathing close above him, knowing only that he is warmed and comforted.

[skunkes]

you should know im always thinking about smunker saying "why does a grilchy's sandwich appear to be so yummy" or however it goes. its just good

THANK U its genuinely one of my fave things ive ever drawn

i wish i wasnt so voice dysphoric bc i read this in a very specific way (and i guess my voice is smunkers canon voice) that also adds to it 😭 i love dis drawing. His stupid little face.

[bixels]

What did/do you like about Pharah?

Uh, gameplay-wise, I really love characters in shooters who rely on three-dimensional movement techs. Chaining together hover and jump to stay in the air for as long as possible and keep momentum is so satisfying, and picking enemies off from the sky made me feel like a bird of prey. I was a good Pharah main.

Story-wise, there unfortunately isn't much to canonically go off because Pharah is so underutilized and neglected. Her personality's pretty boilerplate "heroic hero" (she's literally inspired by Captain America).

But it's the crumbs/bits and pieces that I really latched onto. Pharah's a confirmed lesbian; her short story with Baptiste implies she harbors a crush on Mercy (fucking thank you.). She's biracial Egyptian/First Nations. She has major mommy issues, having grown up both admiring and resenting Ana. She's the bridge between Old Overwatch, inspired by the idealized heroes who surrounded her childhood, and New Overwatch. She's one of the only inter-generational characters in the cast; someone whose experiences span the gap, which is why I seriously believe Pharah would make a great main character.

There isn't much to go off of, though; she's a very uncomplicated character (she's a soldier for a private military corporation, lol.). But that just means she's a blank slate character, so I've seen fanfic writers run wild and create some really interesting takes on her. My favorite interpretation of her's a dense, herbo gym-bro type (a lot of her liens are about work outs, exercising, and playing sports) who's easily excitable under her seemingly self-serious, armored visage. We see how she tends to gloat and hype herself up when she's on a streak too, so Pharah definitely has a competitive and boastful side under her more professional and militant performance.

Now Mercy? Mercy is a real complex character.

[covencritter]

meljay is infinitely more interesting when the vibes they give off is “lovers to exes who are still great friends with something more still lingering there”

mel being the yearner and jayce being the oblivious one to it hits harder.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about Bobbys brother being called Charlie and Charlie’s being very present in the narrative at key moments for Buck and Eddie’s storylines!!!

[feroluce]

“-and that's why I ain't allowed in Pier Point no more!” Boothill throws his head back and cackles, somehow completely comfortable on the bare floor of the archives. He's the very picture of ease, his arms behind his head, his legs bent and crossed.

Dan Heng barely looks up from his notebook, not much surprises him anymore after the first few tales of lawless exploits. “So they really have that many laws and restrictions there.” 

“And prob’ly a few more now that I've been through there! Heck, ya think they named any after me? I'm hopin’ so.” There's so much smug cockiness seeping through his voice Dan Heng could bottle it.

Silence settles in, stretches out. Dan Heng doodles pensive circles in the corner of his page.

He shouldn't ask. It's a private matter. It's none of his business. He of all people should know-

Something pokes his shoe, and when he looks up, Boothill has stretched one arm up to tap metallic fingertips against his foot. “Ain't like ya to hesitate.” With his head tipped back on the tiles and gazing at him upside down, Boothill's hair is out of his face and spooling out all over the floor, offering a rare view of his right side. His right eye is sealed over with a pitch-black patch, stark against his skin. Dan Heng wonders what he looks like behind it. “C'mon, then, out with it. Spill the beans, brother, just say it.”

“What does ‘Boothill’ mean?”

The man blinks at him, the crosshair in his cybernetic left eye flickering. Dan Heng shifts, smooths out his long coat. “I tried to look it up once. It's not in any database as a name...other than your wanted posters.” There's a thread beginning to fray near the hem, he should sew it up. “I couldn't find it anywhere.” 

He nearly takes it back, but- “Heh, ya that curious about me, darlin’?”

Dan Heng quickly levels his face into the most impassive, nonplussed expression he can muster, but Boothill has already turned away, head pillowed on his arms and face once again turned to the ceiling.

“But nah, ya wouldn't. Hah, like they'd allow any record of the language, fudgeheads.” One arm sweeps around blindly until it finds the edge of Boothill's hat, sets it back where it belongs on his head. Dan Heng shuffles around, scoots a little closer, but the brim is pulled too low to see his eyes anymore.

“It's ‘cause it's not a name. It's a noun.” All that's visible of his face is a sharp grin, pulled too tight at the edges.

“It's my people's word for a grave.”

Dan Heng's pencil stops.

“It's the kinda grave fer someone who died with their boots on. If ya catch my drift there.” Boothill's foot starts to bounce. “There was a war, and it got reeeeeal intense, yup. Folks started droppin’ like flies, ‘n’ there was bodies faster'n what we could bury ‘em.” A cooling fan kicks on somewhere. Dan Heng is pretty sure it's not any of the Express equipment.

“We lost some real good people there, real good. Mighty shame.” His hidden Vidyadhara ears detect a quiet metallic click, a whir, pressurized gas. Boothill's next words waft steam from his angry circuits into the air. “When I left, I decided to leave my name there, too. Didn't feel right otherwise. The life I lead now is a whole ‘nother existence.” And then Boothill turns his head, raises his hat, and Dan Heng suddenly feels pinned dead center, caught in that crosshair.

“Ya know what I mean, don'tcha?”

Dan Heng swallows.

Does Boothill know? Who he is and who came before him? There had been that moment in the Penacony Grand Theater, after he activated the Jade Abacus… Dan Heng had tried to shoo him out, keep him from seeing anything, but Boothill has the astounding ability to turn up exactly wherever people are trying to keep him away from.

If he did see, does he actually understand it? Does he know what a High Elder is? Does he know about the sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the transmutation arcanum, everything Dan Feng had done and Dan Heng was punished for?

He doesn't want to explain it all. Not now. Possibly not ever, truth be told.

And it's not the same as Boothill leaving behind his old identity when whatever event happened that caused him to leave home. Not really. But…

But so far, Boothill has slid so easily into Dan Heng’s routine. His presence never feels like an intrusion. He's already figured out what he can push and when to back down. And even Dan Heng finds himself able to roll with whatever punches Boothill throws with baffling ease. They share too much in their methods and ideologies, and sometimes Dan Heng knows what Boothill will do seemingly before even Boothill himself knows.

“...Tell me about Talia and the Nailscrap Town.” Boothill must know he's avoiding the topic. He must. But the man just throws his head back and cackles, melting easily back into what they had been doing before, as he speaks fondly of a planet that Dan Heng has never visited.

Not today. But.

Dan Heng inches just a little closer, just enough to nudge his foot against a metal leg. Boothill doesn't pull away.

Maybe someday.

[son-of-avraham]

This isn't, like, the biggest deal, but I do find it funny when people are almost... surprised or shocked that converts unironically believe in judaism and also unironically align themselves with jewishness. It's just something I've seen a small handful of times and it's like... of course I (and others!) unironically believe in this stuff. I'm not putting in this work because I don't have enough going on in my life

[kacievvbbbb]

In my opinion (which admittedly doesn’t mean much) JJK is a story that could’ve and maybe should’ve gone on for much longer than it did while mha should’ve ended earlier than it did.

To me jjk feels rushed while mha feels dragged out.

[aq2003]

omfg . radio play version of much ado with david as benedick from 2001

[i-may-be-an-emu]

I love how Luke makes his voice deeper when playing male characters. Like his female voices are also crazy convincing but I love that he’s not afraid to make his voice very obviously deeper to play a man too, instead of using his regular voice

[pynkhues]

I know things can shift, but the extent of AMC's investment in the anne rice universe, AND their investment in Rolin, makes me think they might be pretty confident that they're doing at least one more season after this, if not two (or more), so I could see the three-season vision really being true. Who knows, of course, but I could see it. This isn't just a singular show, this is part of a larger overall thing where it wouldn't make sense to cancel individual pieces, maybe, and certainly not the piece which gets them the most critical attention and buzz, as niche as it is. And with Rolin talking about them encouraging him to be bold and original with the show, and them bringing a more acclaimed showrunner onto Mayfair even though Mayfair's numbers are better (so I've heard, anyway?), it feels like they care about the acclaim part.

Agreed, anon. I think it’s too big of an investment, both creatively and financially, for AMC, so I’m really not too worried.

[4esthetic-dissonance]

I'm working on a fic and was like 'how in the hell do you make LINGUANG JUN the least bit redeemable?'. I mean, /Linguang jun/ who tossed a developmentally four year old Mobei Jun to a pack of humans? The kid could have died. And then I saw a translation of the extras. It describes lgj as mbj's 'young uncle', says that he 'wasn't that much older than him (mbj)'. And I just- its a hell of a lot different, a Scar type tossing his nephew to the proverbial wolves than it is for a maybe dumb, maybe petty, maybe developmentally five or six year old to shove their annoying technically-nephew-who-in-age-and-context-is-more-like-a-brother-than-lgj's-actual-brother into a situation that the text implies was more frightening than actually /dangerous/. And that- well I can work with that.